


Pepper Potts

by Jackeline Harkness (Jackeline_Harkness)



Series: Survival [11]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Mission Related, Shopping Malls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackeline_Harkness/pseuds/Jackeline%20Harkness
Summary: Pepper Potts has survived kidnappings, crossfire between superpowered individuals, corporate meetings, a relationship with Tony Stark, and a series of events that are a natural consequence of being a friends with the Avengers. All while managing one of the greatest companies in the world and keeping her business suits pristine.Dealing with PTSD-suffering former terrorist assassins? Piece of cake.





	

**Pepper Potts.**

 

 

Brock’s hand slid off the table and he jerked awake at the sudden, uncontrolled movement.

“Fuck,” he cursed as he realized he’d fallen asleep leaning on the kitchen table. “What time is it?”

“It is six minutes to seven in the morning, Mr. Rumlow.”

“Thanks, Jarvis,” he said, rubbing at his face.

“My pleasure,” there was a little pause. “Sergeant Barnes has left a message for you. Shall I…?”

“Play it!” he interrupted.

«Hey, sweetheart,» the recorded message started, and Brock smiled, because James sounded tired, but relaxed and happy enough to be calling him pet names and slipping into his Brooklyn accent. «We’re wrapped up here, everything went smooth as butter. We found a few prototypes that Stark wants to take back to the tower, so as soon as the transport’s arranged, we’ll be heading home. Shall be back in seven to ten hours. Love ya! »

 Brock opened his mouth.

“I was instructed to not wake you up if you happened to be asleep when the message was left. Sergeant Barnes insisted,” the AI said.

“How did you…?” he paused. “Huh. You’re either scarily smart for an AI, or I’m becoming pitifully predictable.”

“As I do not consider you to be predictable at all, I shall thank you for your compliment, Mr. Rumlow.”

“That’s one you deserve.” He stood and went directly to the cabinet to make some coffee. Following up on the Avengers’ mission and doing research with Jarvis’ help had left him exhausted, and if James had told Stark’s butler to let him sleep, that meant he was well aware of that. The instruction would most likely hold for the next call, so he needed to be awake until James got back if he didn’t want to miss the next call, too. In case there was one. Just in case something happened. “Huh,” he said smartly at the empty space in the cupboard where coffee usually sat. He could say something about that, but Jarvis would most likely have a comeback ready. “Is there coffee in the common floor?”

“Yes, sir. Eight different types, including the Irish cream cappuccino you favor.”

Brock glared at the ceiling.

“Not a word about that.”

“I would never, sir,” and Brock wondered if the personality had been programmed, or if it had developed on its own on Stark’s intimidating learning software.

In any case, he wasn’t going to make it awake for the next twelve hours without caffeine, so he made his way to the elevator and asked Jarvis to take him to the common floor.

He was still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes and measuring the cappuccino blend into the ridiculously fancy coffee maker, when he felt his hackles rise at the feeling of someone entering the kitchen at his back. He whipped around, ready to reach for a knife, and he froze.

There, just a couple of steps into the kitchen, was Pepper Potts.

Brock blinked at her.

“Good morning,” she greeted, with that smile that said that she knew exactly who and what he was, and she was most definitely not afraid of him. “So you’re Brock Rumlow,” yup, she knew who he was. “I’m Virginia Potts, but you can call me Pepper.”

Brock nodded like an idiot, because this was Pepper Potts. He’d seen her a lot of times on TV or the internet or magazines and even on a few presentations at mission briefing. Hell, he’d once jerked off to her immaculate photos on a magazine, imagining what she’d look like dressed down like a mortal, wondering if she’d still look all classy when dressed in shorts and a t-shirt… or nothing at all. As it happened, she was now wearing very, _very_ short shorts, a tank top, and a messy ponytail… and she still looked like a fucking portrait.

“Oh! Is that Irish cream blend? Could you make it two, please?”

Brock mentally shook himself.

“Sure,” and he turned around to make the coffee, suddenly very aware of her swan-like perfection in contrast to his faded pajama bottoms, three-day stubble and all the scars on display on his naked torso.

“I ordered breakfast. It should be here soon,” she said before he could even start to plan a hasty retreat back to the safety of his and James’ floor.

“It’s ok, I…”

“You’ve been monitoring the team, right? You must be tired. Besides, I placed a big order. More than enough for both of us.”

By the time caffeine kicked in, Brock had no doubts about the woman’s power, since she’d somehow managed to make him agree to have breakfast with her, to pour her coffee and, to his absolute horror, to go with her to run a couple of errands. He had to wonder what would’ve been the result if someone had thought of recruiting Pepper for Hydra. She would’ve probably turned it around and gotten a confession out of whatever poor bastard who tried, and the organization would’ve fallen sooner. Plus, he was supposed to not be thinking about that anymore, so…

“I’ll go get dressed,” the redhead said, and Brock had spent enough time with strict and downright cruel COs to be able to understand an implicit order when he got one. She knew full well what she was doing, too, because she took mercy on his soul and offered a bit of very valuable information: “Casual is just fine.”

Brock acknowledged his orders like a good soldier and went to prepare. And wasn’t it fucked up that he found it easier to go through life by drawing parallels between everyday stuff and Hydra’s militaristic ways? But he hadn’t survived Hydra by dwelling on things, so he just sighed, took an extremely quick shower and got dressed. He was pretty sure that casual didn’t mean the same thing for him and Stark’s ex, so he pulled out of his closet the stupidly fancy shirt that had one day appeared there and a pair of artfully faded dark jeans.

As if to make a point, Potts was already waiting when he got to the tower’s private lobby, and he couldn’t tell if she’d been there long or if she’d just gotten there. The redhead was dressed casually fancy, and Brock couldn’t help a wave of pride when her eyes scanned him and then she gave him an approving smile.

They got in the back of a sober but really fine Audi, and Brock felt strange not having to drive nor to get the final details of a mission sorted out.

“We’re just going shopping,” she said, gracefully not staring at him but obviously having noticed his fidgeting. “If there’s anything from the team, Jarvis will let us know immediately.”

“You have Jarvis here?”

“Yup,” she popped that P playfully, “he’s a lot of help when you’re running a company the size of SI.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he looked out the smoky window, trying to figure out where someone like Pepper Potts did her shopping. He leaned back against the fine leather of the seat and hooked his fingers in his belt loops to keep his hands still as he secretly missed a gun to double check.

“You can relax. I didn’t invite you along as my bodyguard, you know?”

He was just trying to figure out where they were headed, but maybe he just looked permanently paranoid. He thought it was justified, since it was a side effect of having a huge target on your head. Hell, if anyone asked, he would’ve told them that a little paranoia was healthy.

“Then why?” he asked, anyway.

“Company. We can wait together for everyone to get back. That’s also why I wanted to go shopping myself instead of letting my shopper do it… or do it all online. I have a bodyguard on payroll, if I needed that.”

“Why don’t you have him with you, then?”

“That takes a lot of the fun out of it,” she grinned. “Also, I figured if you were coming along, I wouldn’t need any additional protection.”

Brock gave her a crooked smile. He liked this woman, and not for her looks, her weapon skills, or any other of the traits that he usually liked.

***

“What do you think?”

Brock looked up from his StarkPhone, shamelessly looking Pepper up and down before his brain caught up.

“I’m not exactly a fashion critic,” and he was proud that he managed not to drool or sprout wood right there, because damn, she looked hot in that classy little dress.

“Which is all the better, because I’d like a normal person’s opinion.”

“Not sure I’d qualify as normal, either,” he snorted.

Once again, she surprised him by grinning.

“Our kind of normal, of course,” she clarified.

That, he could work with.

“It looks good on you,” and then, because of some unknown reason, he continued. “Which is kinda strange, ‘cos I usually don’t like white.”

“Then I’ll definitely take this one,” she said, still smiling brightly, and returned to the fitting room.

By the third outfit, Brock realized he was actually getting a fashion show, and his inner self had to laugh a bit hysterically at how fucking surreal his life was, considering how the secret terrorist organization and the romance with the brainwashed cyborg assassin weren’t even the most ridiculous stuff in it.

He was still vaguely thinking about that when he picked up the bags, giving a passing thought at how satiny the bags’ paper was. He realized a few seconds later that the redhead was beaming at him.

“What?” he demanded.

“Such a gentleman.”

“Far from it.”

“Nonsense. I can see why Bucky and Steve like you.”

He was considering whether to ask about that, and to remind her that he was actually a former high-end terrorist and double agent, but then she was threading her exquisite arm through his and pulling him into another store, which was so expensive-looking that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the windows’ glass panes were actually made of diamonds.

A few hours later, Brock was standing in the middle of a hexagonal fitting room, surrounded by mirror walls, trying on a stupidly elegant suit. He straightened up and took a look at himself, feeling a rush of pride at how the fancy clothes favored his body, accentuating his figure in all the right places, showing off his broad shoulders and narrow waist, making his legs look long and yet powerful. He twisted a bit and marveled at how the thing moved with him, all clean and perfect lines, adjusting to his body even better than combat gear.

The fabric was so rich that he knew it must be sinfully expensive just by touching it, so unlike anything he’d worn in his life. The shirt was silk, and it looked like dark molten silver. The tie was… something nice and expensive. There were fucking cuff links, heavy metal that looked sleek and serious like a gun. The shiny shoes were so light he barely felt them…

How the fuck had he agreed to it? Pepper had talked to him, touched him casually as if he was a friend, dragged him to have lunch at a pretty restaurant… and he’d let himself be tamed with food, just like the stupid wild beast that he was. He sighed. He supposed it made sense.

The carpet felt extremely soft and thick under his feet as he stepped out of that fucking kaleidoscope of a dressing room.

Pepper beamed at him, looking him up and down with no shame at all and still somehow managing to look really lady-like while doing it. She stood from the armchair she’d been sitting on and went to stand next to him in front of the huge mirror.

“Looking really good, Brock,” she commented, obviously proud that her suggestion had actually fitted him so well.

For a moment, he didn’t know how to react. For one thing, there was Pepper’s openness and the way she said his name, the way she leaned towards him as they both looked at his reflection in the mirror, all easy smiles as if they were old friends instead of new acquaintances. There was an instinctual reaction to relax and enjoy the sensation of security that she awoke in him, like she’d take care of everything while subtly stroking his ego; and, well, it certainly explained why Stark had dated her and left the reins of his monster of a company in her hands… but it also made him uncomfortable, because he was supposed to be one of the best trained motherfuckers in the world, and yet here he was, letting his guard down for…

“You should definitely take it.”

Her voice brought him back to the present, and he made a quick check through the mirror, confirming that the store was still empty, save for the staff hanging a respectful distance behind.

“I’m not sure I’d wear it.”

“Why not?”

“Not exactly the type for fancy parties.”

“Hm,” she studied his reflection in the mirror, still smiling softly. “It fits you so well, though. Besides, you’re with the Avengers now. You’ll eventually get dragged into one event or another, and Tony will make your life impossible if you’re not dressed properly.”

“I think I would avoid any event of that kind,” he insisted, because he and any kind of gala was as absurd an idea like a smooth mix of oil and water.

That meant, of course, that about an hour later, he’d bought two suits he wasn’t sure he’d ever wear, three shirts, and other stuff. Plus the other, even fancier suit that was supposed to need some adjustments and was to be delivered to the tower at a later date. It made his head buzz with a strange sensation, a mix of pride and self-consciousness born of Pepper’s appreciation and the obvious ease with which she handled him.  Also, he might need to get at one of the secret accounts he’d set up in case he decided to retire from Hydra before he ended up in a body bag, which would've meant disappearing off the face of the Earth and necessitated lots of untraceable money.

A discrete chime had the redhead fishing her cellphone out of her purse and reading something on the screen.

“We should get back,” she said, all calm and grace like the Earth itself would pace its rotation to her planned schedule, and then arranged to have a few pairs of shoes delivered to her before standing up and threading her arm through his.

“Are they back?” he asked, not managing her smoothness at all.

“Almost. If traffic’s not too bad, we should be back at the tower before they get there.”

Brock nodded, striding back to the parking lot like he was on a time-sensitive mission. Pepper matched his step with her long, graceful legs, as if that was something she was used to doing every day of her life.

He must have been fidgeting something bad as he sat in the car, ‘cos Pepper tapped his knee to draw his attention.

“Anxious?”

“It’s the traffic. Makes me impatient. Might be a left over from running critical ops.”

“It’s ok to miss him, you know?” she was smiling gently, but not like she was patronizing him.

He felt his face warm, so he frowned and looked out the window. At that hour of the afternoon, traffic wasn’t that bad, considering it was New York.

“I miss Tony, too.”

The frown on his face must have deepened some, and he tried to smooth his expression out as he turned towards her. As far as his intel went, Potts and Stark were history, and he’d witnessed how much Stark and Rogers were _not_ just rumors, but now he had to wonder…

The question must have been evident on his face, because the perfect lady in front of him chuckled, shaking her head.

“No, it’s not like that. Tony and I were friends before we were something else, and now we’re friends again.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It isn’t. I love Tony, and I understand him, which, believe me, is not easy and not something anyone could accomplish without time and lots of patience. But that’s how any kind of good relationship is, I guess.”

He shrugged.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“I think you know that very well,” she said, and her smile was an invitation he didn’t feel he was ready to take. He wasn’t sure he would ever be. It had been different with Bruce, since the man was a fellow fighter, well-acquainted with conflict and inner demons. He’d read the files, knew the woman was a lot tougher than her polished exterior showed, knew that she had, in fact, saved Stark from more than one tight spot; still, it was hard to picture himself as anything resembling a friend of Pepper Potts. “Bucky loves you. He’s proud of you, and I kind of see why,” she continued, and he could hear her smile in her voice, even while he continued to frown at the streets. “Maybe if you let yourself believe that you’re among friends, the others will see it, too.”

Silence followed, and it was oddly comfortable. Brock was reminded of those missions he’d gone into with the Winter Soldier by his side, or the calm of hanging out around Bruce while the man did something useful with his time. It was that feeling of knowing that the deadliest thing around was in charge and on your side. Why this thin, elegant woman put that vibe off, he couldn’t say.

As things were, he didn’t have much more time to ponder on that, because they were arriving at the tower and they barely had time to drop bags first on Pepper’s rooms, and then on the apartment he shared with James, before they were rushing to the landing pad, just as the quinjet was powering off.

Pepper went directly to Stark, and Brock greeted Bruce, who looked way too animated to be returning from an exhausting mission, so whatever they had brought back with them or having send after them had to be quite… scientifically interesting. They parted ways as Natasha approached and gently dragged the doctor away, looking like a tired feline as she mumbled something about a long, hot bath.

And then, James was there, tired slope to his shoulders that didn’t make his lazy smile or the spark in his eyes any less bright.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” James gave him back, with that tilt to his head that made him look cocky and beautiful. Brock felt a little shiver down his back every time he saw that gesture on him; it was the same that old cameras had captured for eternity almost a century ago.

James frowned just a tiny bit, his eyes going to the side, and Brock followed his gaze. He realized he’d fallen into a trap a fraction of a second too late, and by then, James had already crouched and wrapped his fucking powerful arms around his thighs and hoisted him up like some stupid high school girlfriend, his knees held between James’ abs and the tight vise of his arms.

Brock didn’t squeal. He did not. And the hand he fisted on James shoulder was just for balance, not for sudden nervousness or anything, thank you very much.

“Put me down,” he demanded, low through his teeth.

“Nope,” and the fucker merrily popped that P with his stupidly delicious lips.

The ex-Hydra commander let out a huff, knowing not to fight lost battles.

“You look like shit.”

“Well, you look amazing, kid,” he countered, taking him in as much as was possible while holding him like that. He pressed a kiss to Brock’s clothed chest, then he craned his head back to look him in the eye again. “And smell even better.”

“Yeah, who knew that was even possible, huh?” he tugged playfully at James’ messy hair, very pointedly not looking at the rest of the team who were still there. He was pretty sure it was Stark staring a hole into his back, wide grin and everything else like a promise that he’d file this little scene to be a dick and embarrass Brock later. “Put me down, Alexei,” this time, a soft request.

“Give me a kiss and I will.”

“You’re stupid,” he grumbled his complaint, but rested his forearms on his lover’s shoulders, bending down to kiss that pretty, wicked mouth.

Brock felt James lower him to the ground, all graceful and effortless like he wasn’t over two hundred pounds of good-enough muscle.

“Did you miss me?” was breathed into his ear.

“Welcome back,” he said simply, because he’d be damned if he gave Stark and Barton more material. Had he known that tiny displays of affection in front of the others would be interpreted as permission to be annoying assholes, he would’ve told Romanoff that he was just fine working things out with James behind closed doors, floors away from the rest of them.

James understood, though, because he just laughed against his jaw, with a delighted glint in his eye. With that, he finally released him from his embrace, and loosely wrapped his flesh arm around his waist and started walking to the elevator. Brock was happy to follow, throwing an arm around James’ shoulders.

“You do look great, kid,” he said again after a slow, appreciative once over. “Not that you’re not hot all the time, but the fancier clothes suit you.”

“You think so?”

“Very much,” and the hand on him slid up and down his flank, shamelessly feeling him up.

“Then I might have something you’ll like.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

The elevator doors slid closed behind them, and Steve looked at the polished metal for a good few seconds after they were hidden from view, a small smile on his lips. This was the Bucky he remembered: playful, strong, cocky, and happy. This was a Bucky he’d thought was lost forever to almost a century of horrors straight out of a science fiction magazine.

“Jarvis,” Tony started.

“Don’t you dare!” Steve cut him off.

“Why?”

“Because using Jarvis to spy on people’s private conversations is not polite, that’s why.”

“Oh, come on, Steve! This is too good to pass up! Who even knew Brock Rumlow could actually clean up?”

“He cleans up quite nicely, too,” Pepper agreed, nodding happily.

“Quite nicely?” Tony echoed, a mocking, exaggerated surprise and affront in his tone. “Should I be jealous? Should _Barnes_ be jealous?”

She chuckled, smacking him playfully on the shoulder.

“What have you been up to?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged elegantly. “Just went out shopping.”

Tony blinked at her.

“Shopping? With Rumlow?” more over-the-top shock.

“Tony,” Steve said, half exasperated warning, half amused fondness.

Pepper just nodded.

“And? You in one piece? No secret terrorist operations were started?”

She rolled her eyes at her former boss.

“He’s quite nice, Tony. Just a little… skittish, might be the word?” she paused. “I’d say you should trust him.”

“Hm. Is that your professional assessment, Miss Potts?”

“That it is, Mister Stark,” she was smiling, easily going with Tony’s strange flow.

Steve, though, had to frown a little bit, wondering how serious that conversation about assessments actually was. He’d have to ask Tony, though he thought he already knew the answer.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” he looked at her.

“Grab Tony and make sure he showers, eats, and sleeps, alright? I know when he’s stalling to make everyone go ahead of him and then hang back to poke at new tech, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.”

“Pep!” Tony let out in shocked betrayal.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Steve said, even throwing a very serious salute her way before grabbing Tony’s arm and pulling him towards the elevator.

 


End file.
